Wolf Slave 30 – Alex Ankarr

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Photo in the public domain by Jack Kurzenknabe

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Wolf Slave 30 – Alex Ankarr

It would be easier if it wasn’t setting Penn’s own loins on fire, wasn’t making him weak and numb-limbed, ready to submit most truly, to give Ree whatever he demands as if he had the right, truly, to demand it. But no. He has to take control of this: for the sake of his entire future. So he doesn’t resist: because that might lead to anger, and make a quick angry fuck and being discarded as evidence of shame and culpability, all the more likely.

No, if anything he twines and lingers up against Ree’s hard body, all the more pliant, giving him no resistance. Letting his arms twine up and around Ree’s neck, his thick bull-neck as Ree gets his hands up, ready to push Penn down on the table. And it works, up to a point: a soft warm welcome has Ree’s hands suddenly gentling, less forceful and more caressing. The hand in Penn’s hair is almost tender in an instant: and it’s unfortunate, really, because that makes Penn remember the owner who’d used and abused him. That one had loved his hair, the white-blond fire of it, and the blueness of his eyes too. His colouring has always made him remarkable, noticeable: far from a good thing, usually, for a slave. Perhaps it’s part of why Ree has remembered him so long, kept on looking for him past the point where it made any sense.

But he pushes that away, because there are things more important. Survival is more important, and flourishing is more important still. Holding and pressing his advantages, that’s what he requires of himself.

Remembering that makes it easier to push himself up against Ree, instead of flinching and pulling away. (Or merely co-operating sexually, which would be easy enough. Now, pressed against the table, their hard-ons are pressed up against each other, and every pleasurable-painful throb makes it harder to think.) He can feel how it encourages the ardour, but gentle ardour, now, of Ree’s response: rubbing his body up against Penn, but less harsh, less forceful. More, there, of wanting to elicit a response, an arousal in return. That’s to be encouraged, it’s all to the good.

He leans to whisper into Ree’s ear, and knows what to say. It’s instinct: they know each other, even if they’ve been dancing around each other, these last days and weeks. ‘Why didn’t you just take me, then?’ he whispers. But he lets his hand stray up, to the raven glint of Ree’s hair, as he says it, to take the sting out. ‘If I’m property, a chattel: if I’m a slave. You could have: there’s barely a soul in the land would not acquit you as within your rights. That’s if they even thought it worth remarking on.’ And suddenly, truly, he wants to know. ‘Why didn’t you?’

© Copyright Alex Ankarr 2013  All rights reserved to the author. No inspirations for characters drawn from real-life individuals, no resemblance to real individuals intended.

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